


Wrong Number (Right Person)

by opheliaspen (hermioneswhore)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost Crack, Almost Fluff, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, Modern Era, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27423403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermioneswhore/pseuds/opheliaspen
Summary: “I must have dialed the wrong number.”“Okay,” the reply was short and curt and it made her tense.“I just got a new phone. I loved my old one, but well I dropped it on the cement and it stopped working completely,” she continued as she simultaneously whisked parmesan cheese into her pot.“Okay.”“I've had my old phone for five years so I suppose it was time for a new one anyway, but I lost all my data including my contacts.”“...”“And my friend, Harry, wrote his number down for me to add, but I must've typed-”“Are you going to tell me your whole life story or can I go back to my reading?”“Oh, sorry...what are you reading?”The phone beeped signaling the end of the call.[In which Hermione wrote down the wrong number and Tom is not a therapist.]
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 40
Kudos: 334





	Wrong Number (Right Person)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I am not British so some of the information may be wrong :3
> 
> Also, I didn't proofread this so there's probably a lot of mistakes. 
> 
> Characters are OOC. 
> 
> *Disclaimer: I do not own the characters

She balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear while she tried to keep her alfredo sauce from burning. 

The ringing coming from her new phone abruptly stopped and she heard a low voice answer with a smooth, “hello?”

A low voice that was decidedly not her best friend.

“Um, hello, this wouldn’t happen to be Harry’s cell would it?” Hermione asked awkwardly. 

“No,” the voice drawled with impatience. 

“Oh,” she replied, unsure how to end the conversation. “I must have dialed the wrong number.”

“Okay,” the reply was short and curt and it made her tense. 

“I just got a new phone. I loved my old one, but well I dropped it on the cement and it stopped working completely,” she continued as she simultaneously whisked parmesan cheese into her pot. 

“Okay.”

“I've had my old phone for five years so I suppose it was time for a new one anyway, but I lost all my data including my contacts.”

“...”

“And my friend, Harry, wrote his number down for me to add, but I must've typed-”

“Are you going to tell me your whole life story or can I go back to my reading?”

“Oh, sorry...what are you reading?”

The phone beeped signaling the end of the call. 

“Prat,” she decided as she stared at her blank screen. 

She put her phone in her pocket, mixed her pasta into the sauce, and turned off the heat. 

That had to be the most uncomfortable phone call of Hermione’s life, including the time Harry accidentally called her instead of Ginny for phone sex. She wasn’t the best in uncomfortable situations and apparently she rambled when she was nervous. The man who answered probably thought she was a complete knob.

She got her food ready and went to sit on her sofa. It was a long day; a long, boring day of work that consisted solely of filing paperwork for her boss. She was just lucky she had a desk job and wasn’t mall security like Harry or slinging burgers like Ron to pay for college. And for as much as she hated her job, returning home to an empty apartment was the worst part of her day. 

At the start of their third year of university, Ron and Harry rented a flat together near their uni while Hermione was left to find a small studio near Wellington Square. She wasn’t allowed pets so she couldn’t even bring her family cat Crookshanks to keep her company. 

Hating being alone, she got out her phone and looked for the scrap of paper she wrote Harry’s number on. Maybe he was free to hang out tonight, Ginny was out of town the rest of the week for a football match after all. 

Once she located the paper on the small coffee table, she carefully typed the phone number into the keypad, double checking that it matched the paper and pressed the call button. She picked at her pasta as the phone rang, and wondered if she should invite Ron over as well. Things between her and Ron were on the mend after their breakup a few months ago, but it still wasn’t the same as when-

“Hello?” greeted the same voice as before.

“Uh, hi...again,” Hermione replied.

“Christ,” she heard the voice mutter.

“Sorry, I guess I wrote down the wrong number…”

“You didn’t realize that five minutes ago when you called me?”

“Well I thought I had just typed the wrong number into the phone, but I guess the number I wrote down on the paper was wrong.”

“Right...well I’m going back to studying now unless you want to ramble some more about your problems,” he taunted. 

“I’d like to ramble some more if you don’t mind,” she retorted with sarcasm dripping from her words. 

He sighed, “I’m not a therapist.”

“Good cause I’m not paying you.”

He let out another overly exaggerated sigh into the speaker so she could hear it. 

“So, you are…?” her voice trailed off.

“None of your business,” the man stated.

“If you won’t tell me your name I'll just give you one myself. How about Todd,” Hermione nearly smiled when she heard the man huff at this. 

“Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?” 

“Of course they have, Jeff.”

“And you haven’t tried to correct that?”

“Where’s the fun in that, Andy.”

“There’s no way you have any friends.”

“Actually, I do have friends, Dick,” this time she glared at the phone; the comment reminding her too much of the remark made by one of her friends back in primary school. 

“Well this has been fun, I’ll be hanging up now,” she heard the man pulling the phone away to hang up and panicked. 

“Wait!” 

Another sigh came from the speaker, “what now?”

“What are you studying?” Hermione tried to strike up a conversation with the spiteful stranger. 

“...Law,” he responded with confusion. This delighted Hermione, she had considered going into Law but had ultimately ended up in Literature. 

“Oh really? So is my friend! Where do you study, are you near Oxford?” 

“Cambridge, best university in the UK. I’d be stupid to go anywhere else,” his voice turned haughty at this. 

Hermione snorted, “other than Oxford of course.” 

“Oh please, maybe if I wanted to become an art major,” the man remarked scoffing at her. 

“Oxford’s law program is the best in Britain. While Cambridge excels in mathematics and science, everyone knows Oxford is the best school for humanities, including law. And there is nothing wrong with majoring in art!” Hermione boasted indignitaley. 

Her companion laughed with no humor, “I’d be surprised if Oxford even offered a decent engineering program for how much they focus on the arts. At least Cambridge focuses on the subjects that actually matter. No wonder Cambridge produces so many more Nobel laureates.”

“Oh give me a break, that is so irrelevant,” this time Hermione scoffed. 

“It’s irrelevant that Cambridge produces more upstanding, renowned alumni?”

“You’re just changing the subject because you think I’m right,” Hermione snorted. 

“I think you’re an idiot is what I think,” he jeered. 

“An idiot who got into Oxford when you couldn’t,” she retorted in a sing-song voice. 

“I could have gotten in if I wanted to waste three years of my life.”

“Did you cry when you got your rejection letter?”

“You’re bloody infuriating, do you know that?”

“It’s been said,” she conceded with a smirk as she laid back against the couch and watched the ceiling. 

She heard another huff on the other end of the line. She wondered if he was running his hands through his hair or tapping his foot angrily; then she remembered she didn’t even know what this bloke looked like, if he even had hair, or feet!

“I’m going back to studying now,” he told her after a moment. 

“Don’t strain yourself, Brad.”

“It’s Tom Riddle.” 

She paused at this statement. 

“Talk to you later, Tommy,” Hermione said, her smile triumphant. 

“What do-” she cut him off by hanging up the phone. 

She laughed to herself when she let her cell fall to the sofa. It was nice to talk to someone else other than Harry and Ron for a little bit. Especially someone she could argue with about something as silly as a school rivalry. It was just to irritate him, but maybe she would call him again tomorrow evening for some much needed companionship and entertainment. 

She visibly cringed at herself-- nearly giddy over the thought of ringing and arguing with a complete stranger. She really needed to get out more. Smile fading, she looked back to her empty room and cold bowl of pasta. She would have to go see Harry tomorrow and get his real number. 

* * *

“Evening, Tom,” Hermione greeted when she rang him the next day.

“You again,” his voice sneered at her. 

“Well you haven’t blocked me yet so you clearly don’t mind too much,” she reasoned. 

“Maybe I just haven't gotten to it yet, I’m a very busy man,” Tom informed. 

“I’m sure you are, Tom. So what are you doing on this fine evening?”

“You're not going to leave me alone are you?”

“No,” her answer was honest. 

He sighed, “I’m working on my third year dissertation.”

“How exciting, I’m also in my third year! What area of law are you focusing on?”

* * *

For some reason, they have been conversing for three days and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to quit calling. Soon after their second call, she added Tom as a contact in her phone with a devil emoji next to his name. The conversations ranged in topic from politics to books to dinner suggestions. 

Tom was a lovely conversation partner in that he wasn’t shy to be snarky and impertinent. He gave as good as he got, countering every remark she made and talking his way out of her accusations. He would laugh at her jabs and mocked her when she couldn’t rebuke him. 

“You’re telling me to put bleu cheese in my mac n cheese? Are you insane?” she asked. 

“Trust me it’s good,” Tom assured her. 

“That doesn’t even sound good,” her voice weary, looking at the container of the crumbled curds.

She heard a tapping on his end of the call and halted. “Hold on, somebody’s at the door,” he paused, moving away from the speaker of the phone for a moment. 

They were both cooking dinner in their respective apartments; Tom walked her through his ‘famous’ mac n cheese recipe for dinner while she followed the steps with verbalized doubt. While he was away from the phone, Hermione pondered over who would be showing up to Tom’s door this late in the evening. She assumed that it was a friend, until her mind threatened her with the possibility that Tom had a significant other he hadn’t mentioned. 

(She had told him all about her fallout with Ron and how it affected her friendship, Tom told her he sounded like a moron.)

It shouldn’t upset her really; Tom was still a stranger, she didn’t even know his middle name. But sometimes she swore he was flirting with her when they would argue and sometimes she thought he was trying to impress her when he bragged about his academic accomplishments. 

“Granger? Are you still there?”

Yes, she told him her name as well. She considered the repercussions of giving a stranger her personal information, but couldn’t find it in herself to be nervous, or think of a false name.

“I, yeah I’m here. Who was at the door?” she tried to keep her voice casual despite the turmoil the question brought. 

“Abraxas was dropping off my clothes,” Tom’s answer lent immediate, unwelcome relief. 

“Oh,” she breathed. “Why did he have your clothes?”

“I stayed at his house last weekend, prat had another dinner party,” he provided.

“Sounds delightful,” she teased, having heard Tom’s abhorrence for Abraxas’ past events. 

“It was lovely if you're partial to snobby rich parents and their equally snobby colleagues.”

Hermione gave an undignified snort, “Why did you go then?” 

“Everyone has their uses I suppose. The Malfoys gave me a scholarship to put me through university, Abraxas came along as a _benefit,_ ” he voiced the last word with disdain. 

She snickered again, “how very cunning of you, Thomas.”

“Don’t call me that, Hermy.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Can we get back to the recipe now.”

“Of course. Now put the damn bleu cheese in the pot.”

* * *

“We don’t need to see each other to communicate. Needing to know how someone looks is so superficial anyway. I prefer it like this,” Hermione explained to Tom one afternoon as she heated a kettle. 

She thought frequently about meeting Tom in person or even FaceTiming and she expressed these thoughts to him. They both agreed they were better off remaining anonymous for now. There was nothing they could talk about in person that they couldn’t discuss over the phone. 

“Exactly, this way I can imagine you as a tall, leggy blonde,” he chided playfully. Everytime they conversed she found new facets of Tom’s personality that made her swoon. Last Friday she called him before her 8 am class and was introduced to grumpy morning Tom. 

“And I can picture you 6’4 with bulging muscles and flowing brown locks,” she mocked cringing at the memory of the men on the cover of the romance novels her mother used to read. 

* * *

Once again, Hermione found herself with her ear holding the phone against her shoulder as she cleaned out her closet. She would leave the phone on her bedside table, but Tom complained that he couldn’t hear her from that far away. 

“And she believed you?” Tom questioned. 

“Why wouldn’t she? I was an adorable ten year old,” Hermione informed him cheekily, putting her jacket on a hook.

“And no doubt just as adorable now,” Tom insisted. She felt her stomach turn at Tom’s offhand comment, making Hermione wrench away from the voice in her ear. Her new phone fell from her shoulder and thudded on her carpet.

“Shit!” she exclaimed. Hermione picked her phone up and expected it for any damage, sighing in relief when it seemed fine. She didn’t have the money to buy two new phones in one month-- she should really consider that extended warranty. 

“Did you just drop me?” the voice in her phone asked.

“Well technically, I dropped my phone,” her response was lame she knew. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You haven’t even met, Mione, he could be a serial killer for all you know.”

She already regretted telling Harry and Ron about Tom, but it had been almost three weeks since they started talking and she felt like she was keeping a secret from them. 

“Don’t be absurd Harry, he’s a nice guy, albeit narcissistic and cocky,” Hermione reassured, mumbling the last part. A large part of her wished she confided in Ginny instead, knowing the redhead would be much more understanding and encouraging. 

“Have you looked him up on the internet at least?” Harry pressed. 

“No, we agreed not to Google each other, it takes away the mystery,” Hermione winced at her own reason. 

“Sounds like something a serial killer would suggest.”

“Harry!” she cried with exasperation. “Honestly you need to stop being so paranoid.”

He sulked, but returned to the board. 

Hermione had invited Harry and Ron over to hang out because she felt like she was abandoning them for Tom (Tom disagreed with this). She made them dinner--another recipe from Tom who was somewhat of a cooking whiz-- and they were watching Fast and Furious, yet again, while Harry and Ron played a game of chess on the coffee table. 

“Don’t you want to see what this guy looks like, Mione?” Ron asked her this time.

“I...Of course I do,” she admitted running a hand through her curls. “But, we agreed, I respect his privacy and he respects mine.”

“I call bull. He definitely already looked through your Instagram account.” Hermione glared at Ron from across the room. Tom wouldn’t do that, but she knew she had been tempted. 

“Yeah I’d love to see his face when all he got were pictures of her books,” Harry added, making him and Ron chuckle. 

“Ow!” Harry cried when she hit him with the book she was working through. His hand came up and soothed where the hardcover novel thumped his head. 

“May I remind you that books are mankind's greatest treasure! And I don’t just post books, I post pictures of family and friends too!”

“Sure you do,” Ron falsely agreed.

Hermione was about to retort when her phone rang on the couch next to her. She didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know it was Tom, but she informed him she was having the boys over so why was he calling? 

Harry raised an eyebrow at her looking at the phone while Ron made his move. 

“Hello,” she answered the phone.

“Did you get rid of them yet? I had a terrible day I need to complain about,” Tom’s voice held exhaustion. 

“Tom!” heat infused her cheeks at his comment, but she admittedly wanted to hear about this terrible day, Tom didn’t have many of those. “No, we're watching a movie.”

Tom sighed dramatically for her. 

“Is that him? Put him on speaker,” Ron requested as he and Harry abandoned their game even with Harry in the lead for once. 

“What? No. Give me a second,” Hermione voiced, getting up and jogging to her room to talk to Tom. Funny enough, she felt uncomfortable speaking to the man she flirted with in front of her ex-boyfriend. 

“Hey, I’m sorry Tom, but can I call you back after they leave?” Hermione asked him, breathing heavily away from the phone. She didn’t understand where her anxiety was coming from. It only heightened when Tom didn’t respond right away. 

“I don’t like this,” Tom spoke plainly.

She chuckled at this, “Sorry Tom, I’ll call you in two hours and then you can tell me all about your awful day.”

“I might not want to talk about it in two hours.”

She rolled her eyes at his childishness. “Goodbye Tom, I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

He gave a final angry huff and hung up the phone. When she opened the door to return to the living room, she noticed Harry and Ron lingering outside her bedroom. 

“Really? Listening to my conversation?”

They at least had the decency to blush at her comment. 

* * *

“Tom what would you say if I told you I wanted to meet?” she asked him one rainy morning, voice heavy with uneasy.

She was _bored_ and they had been talking for almost two months now and she was _lonely_. They were in contact almost constantly whenever they were free, and when they couldn’t talk on the phone, they texted. Hermione preferred phone calls over texts, she couldn’t hear his sneer over text. 

“I’d ask, ‘when and where?’” Tom simply told her. 

“Really?”

“Sure,” he agreed and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. “So...when and where?” 

They agreed on a small coffee shop near Milton Keynes next Saturday, about halfway between Oxford and Cambridge. 

“You’re not some hideous beast are you?”

“Don’t be so shallow, Tom; would it really matter if I was? This isn’t a date,” Hermione chastised, but really, she was stupidly worried that Tom would think her unattractive. 

“Yeah, yeah. I just can’t wait to see your face when I win our future debates.”

She didn’t respond to this as her mind conjured images of Tom ceasing contact with her once they met in person. She didn’t think she could bear it after depending on him so much to fill her days. Weeks ago Hermione finally admitted to herself that she was crushing hard on Tom, even without knowing what he looked like. 

“Hermione?” Tom’s voice cut through the cruel silence. “What are you thinking about?”

“Sorry, I was just...wondering what to wear,” she tried.

“Something hot, I’m thinking a skimpy cocktail dress,” Tom teased and she could practically see his lips curl into a smirk.

“You’re an idiot, Tom,” she breathed.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, hammering so hard she thought her ribs might break and she realized one truth: she was so screwed. 

* * *

Her stomach was in knots on the way up to Milton Keynes. Harry and Ron tried to talk her out of it, but she could not be dissuaded. 

She wanted to meet Tom despite her fears of rejection. 

As she pulled into the coffee shop’s parking lot the butterflies' wings fluttered strongly in her stomach. She felt sweat beading at her hairline and beneath the collar of her simple burgundy dress. She chose a casual outfit with light makeup, not wanting to be overdressed or underdressed. She braided her hair back and pinned it into a heavy bun. Nonetheless, small ringlets were popping out left and right and clinging to her neck and temples. 

She rested her forehead against the steering wheel and tried to calm her rapid breathing. _It will be fine_ , she told herself. If he just wants to be friends that’s fine. It was _fine_. 

She got out of her car and marched into the cafe without letting herself falter. A small bell rang above her head as warmth brushed her stocking covered legs and the smell of tea and pastry invaded her senses. Glancing around, she noticed the few patrons, but Tom was not here yet. She chose a small table at the back near a window to watch the cloudy autumn sky. 

Pulling her phone out of her purse she sent Tom an “I’m here” text and got out her current book to read while she waited. 

It wasn’t five minutes later when she heard the bell ring above the door signaling someone's entrance. Her head jerked up and she saw a short man walking in with curly dark red hair and a heavy beard.

Was this Tom? She cursed herself for not asking what he would be wearing. 

She saw the man go to the counter to order without looking around the cafe and wondered if he got her text. Shakily, she strode to the counter and approached the man. 

“Excuse me, Tom?” the man turned around while he was waiting for his drink to be made. 

“Pardon?” 

“I-Are you Tom?”

“No...I’m Aaron, do you need something?” the man looked confused as he waited for an explanation. 

“Oh sorry, I’m meeting someone and I thought you were him. I’ve never seen him before, it’s actually a funny story. We-”

“So you overshare with anyone then? It’s a shame, I thought I was special,” a snarky voice sounded from behind her causing her to spin and nearly stumble into the counter. 

Hermione nearly fell again when she took in the handsome features of the man she had become infatuated with. Tom was tall, maybe not 6’4, but he towered over her like a tree. His dark brown hair was arranged in perfect gelled waves, falling cooly over half of his forehead. His bone structure was something a sculptor could never recreate with high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and straight nose. His eyes were deep blue and intimidating, but his lips curved into a warm smirk.

He wasn’t a muscled jock like she joked about, but his shoulders and arms were obviously toned through the button up shirt he wore. 

Realizing she was silently checking him out, she tried to break the awkward silence. 

“Hi.” Her voice broke and she blushed as she cleared her throat and tried again, “hello.”

The man behind her, Aaron, muttered something before he took his drink and left. 

“Hermione, can I buy you a drink?” his voice wasn’t as deep as it was on the phone, but it was still alluring and firm. She took a good minute to process his question as she gripped the counter.

“Tom, I’m so glad to meet you,” she expressed instead, body heating at his overwhelming presence. Her comment made Tom smile genuinely.

Hermione thought she saw red flooding his cheeks before he turned to the lady behind the counter and ordered two cups of chai tea. She remembered telling Tom it was her favorite during one of their first conversations and a smile pulled at her lips. 

“You look lovely,” Tom offered when he turned back to her. 

“Thanks...you do as well,” she returned, the impending blush her enemy. “You’re much more charming in person.” 

“You’re much more reserved in person, where's the fire Granger?” 

He grabbed the drinks off the counter and paid for them while Hermione stared dumbly at his smoothe movements. She silently followed him to the same table in the back she sat at previously. 

“For a swot, you’re being uncharacteristically quiet. Have I finally rendered you speechless?” his smirk widened as he observed Hermione’s flushed cheeks and fraught expression. 

“Of course not, I’m just thinking about how much more annoying your voice is in real life than on the phone,” she replied, making Tom throw his head back in laughter. 

Yes, she realized, she was so, _so_ screwed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly inspired by Bonnie and Adam's meeting on "Mom." 
> 
> This is my first work so let me know what you think. 
> 
> Please? :D


End file.
